Not Quite Human
by Darkest Desire
Summary: Being a dog has its perks: people are more open, you get free handouts, and you aren't recognized as the convicted killer, Sirius Black. Which helps when you’re out to kill the rat that landed you in Azkaban, especially when said rat resides in Hogwarts


Summary: Being a dog has its perks: people are a lot more open around you, you can get more free handouts, and people can't recognize you as the convicted killer, Sirius Black. All of which helps when you're on a mission to kill the rat that landed you in Azkaban, especially when said rat resides in Hogwarts.

Disclaimer: Yep, you guessed it; I don't own a thing.

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CHAPTER ONE: THE LITTLE OLD LADY WHO LIVES IN THE WOODS

You wouldn't believe all of the things people are willing to do or say in front of a dog. I almost don't believe it myself; I've seen some pretty bizarre things. From dancing around half naked in front of a full-length mirror to eccentric sexual fantasies, I've seen and heard it all (most of the time when I'd rather _not_ see _or_ hear it.)

It can actually be pretty funny sometimes, though. People are a lot looser around dogs than they are other people; it almost makes being forced to stay in dog form bearable. But besides the obvious amusement I glean from this unique perspective, I also get a lot more handouts this way.

People are a lot more willing to take in a poor, stray dog than a poor, stray man, as odd as it may be. Not that I can blame them or anything, but it's almost sad the way that works. I know I would never get the same kindness shown to me when in dog form if I was to stay in my human form, even _if_ my face wasn't recognized throughout the wizard and muggle worlds as Sirius Black, mass murderer extraordinaire.

I try to joke about my whole situation, hoping that it will somehow make it more bearable. It doesn't. Not like I really expected it to anyway. It is sort of funny when you think about it, though, in a sardonic, derisive sort of way. Really more ironic and incredulous than humorous, but who am I to say?

I'm probably the only one, besides Voldemort and Pettigrew and perhaps a few of the surviving Death Eaters who weren't driven insane by Azkaban, to know about what truly transpired that Halloween night so long ago. The night I was hauled off to my doom, also known as Azkaban.

I laughed that night too; it _was_ rather funny. After all, we had always thought Peter was practically a squib and a Hufflepuff at heart; how wrong we all were. The stupid rat bastard was smarter than we gave him credit for, or at least more devious.

Even though I didn't kill them and I wasn't, nor ever will be, a Death Eater, I'll never be able to forgive myself for James and Lily's deaths. I as good as pointed that wand at them and spoke the killing curse by convincing them to choose _Wormtail_ as their secret keeper, rather than taking the responsibility upon myself. And here we thought Remus was the one not to be trusted, just because he's a werewolf. Well, I guess that just goes to show that we were more prejudiced than we cared to admit.

I wish all of these thoughts would just go away. Even without the dementors nearby these memories, these awful memories, keep playing over and over again in my mind, haunting me. Will it never _end_?

I wish that I could go back and change the past, undo it all, all of it. But I can't. Peter became a death eater. James is dead. Lily is dead. I was sent to Azkaban. This is the reality I must live in. No use wishing for something I can never have.

I wonder whatever happened to Remus. I wish that I could visit him, my last remaining friend. But he probably still thinks I am the guilty one and that James, Lily, and Peter all died because of _me_. Even if he did know the truth, though, I wouldn't put him in danger by taking refuge in his house.

Which is why I rely so heavily upon the kindness of strangers. They feed me, bathe me, provide me with a place to sleep. It's not too bad, at least not when you compare it to the condition I've been living in for the past twelve or so years.

No one has turned me into the pound yet, for which I am thankful. People seem pretty willing to take me in, for the most part. I'm at the fourth house since my escape. Some nice, elderly lady is caring for me this time. She lives all by herself, out in a little wooded area; I think she's lonely.

She talks to me a lot, mostly about her late husband who past away about four years ago. She talks to me about such things often. It gets kind of depressing, but I find that it's better than the baby-talk-voice most people use when talking to me. She talks as if I am human, like I can understand her every word, though I doubt she truly believes that I can.

I've been with her for almost two weeks now, far longer than any of the others. I would be moving on, but I need some time to rest and recuperate before heading to Hogwarts, and I figure that this is as good a place as any, if not better.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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Author's Note: I just got the sudden urge to write a story about what Sirius thought and did between the time he escaped and his imminent arrival at Hogwarts. I don't really know where this is going, or even if I'll be updating it (I've got a lot of other stories I should be working on), but I decided that since this much was done, I might as well post it and see if people like it. I hope you did! 


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